Hybrid Perpetual
by Raddishh
Summary: Belle never returns after her skirmish with the wolves until it is too late. She revisits the castle and takes the rose, but with unforeseen consequences. Can a curse ever truly be broken?
1. An empty stem

_A/N- I can't believe I actually finished this first chapter. I didn't realize writing it would be such a struggle for me, but I just had so many ideas and I couldn't think of how to put them all down. Please read it and review._

Belle ran through the woods. The trees seemed to form an endless labyrinth that tore at her dress, trying to hinder her and force her to go back. But her terror at what she had done and what lay behind her was greater than the panic that she felt.

She forced herself to stop for a moment and catch her breath. She slumped to the ground with her back against a tree and finally dared to look at the glowing object she clutched to her breast. The rose.

Belle had become obsessed with it ever since she had been driven out of the castle. When she closed her eyes, even for a moment, it hung in front of her eyelids like retinal burn. After all, that rose had been the entire reason the beast had driven her out of the castle. But her curiosity had been too great. Even months later, when his horrible fangs and leering eyes had all but been forgotten, her memory of the rose still lingered. Although, she admitted to herself, she had really wanted closure. More than anything, she had just wanted to know what had happened to that enchanted place.

The night before her wedding to Gaston was her last chance. She hadn't even been sure what she was expecting to find there. Maybe it would be like she never even left. She hadn't expected to find things so very, very different.

Belle raised the rose to her eye level gently. It was silly, really, to take it when it no longer had any petals. It was just a stem now, but the memory of what it had once been was enough.

It had been so easy to go back there, yet at the same time, it had been painful. It had been eerily quiet when she entered the castle, reminiscent of her first visit. She had called out to Cogsworth and Lumiere, but no one responded. She had shaken the candlestick and clock that lay on the side table in the entrance hall, but they were just that; a candlestick and a clock. It had been the same everywhere. Every cup in the kitchen remained quiet, the wardrobe in her old bedroom didn't flap its drawers when she entered, and no footstool ran to greet her. She had found herself wandering aimlessly until her feet brought her to the West Wing.

The West Wing seemed much the same as the last time she had been there. Eerily quiet, she had made her way through the wreckage, drawn toward the area that she knew held the rose. She didn't even realize that it was _the_ rose when she finally found it. The eerie pink glow that had once filled the air around it was gone, and all of the petals of the rose had fallen off one by one and now lay, cast off like an old pair of shoes, at the foot of an empty stem.

Ever so tenderly, expecting the same repercussions as the last time she had attempted it, she removed the glass case and took the rose stem. But nothing had happened. Everything continued to stay eerily stagnant. Then she had felt herself pulled like a marionette with invisible thin strings, toward the twin glass doors to the balcony. One was just slightly ajar, as if someone had walked out to the balcony without properly closing the door but had never come back in. She had opened it and stepped lightly out onto the balcony. There on the balcony lay a dark mass, furry and large. Belle had raised her hand to her lips in horror and slowly backed away, then ran like a coward out of the West Wing, through the halls, down the rooms, and out the door, away from that cursed place, still clutching the rose.

The Beast was dead.


	2. Sunday Morning

Even after Belle returned home and was lying safe in her own bed, as far away from that lifeless castle as she could possibly get, she still felt herself troubled by what she had seen. Why had the Beast died? What had happened to all of the enchanted objects that, while unconventional, had held so much life? She was disturbed to say the least.

Belle rolled over onto her side and reached her hand out to touch the fragile rose stem that lie on her bedside table. At least she knew that it wasn't just a dream. No matter what happened, at least she could always have the rose to remind her that all of it had been real.

Tomorrow she would marry Gaston. She wasn't sure how she felt about this. Granted, she didn't love him. She had never really even liked him. But what choice did she have? She had had no way to prove that her father wasn't crazy, and almost anything was preferable to him being carted away. If only she had had some proof of the beast, then maybe things had turned out differently. There _was_ the rose, but that proved nothing to anyone who hadn't seen it in its true glory. Now, it didn't even look like a rose. But the deed was done now; she was going to marry him. For some reason, she hadn't fought it as much as she had thought she would. And she might have just stayed imprisoned in that castle for the rest of her life. Gaston was comparatively better. Or was he?

Belle fell into a restless, troubled sleep where she was plagued by dreams of falling petals and large, silent rooms. And no matter how long she ran, she knew that a lifeless body always lay just behind her. Why was it that all of her fantasy tales had been replaced with horror stories?

Belle awoke to sunbeams dancing across her cheek, beckoning to her to forget her troubles. After all, it was her wedding day. New days always suggested a fresh start to her. As Belle yawned, stretched, and pulled on her simple white morning gown, she smiled to herself, hope filling her chest like a balloon. She was selfish to dread the wedding. As if people hadn't been in arranged marriages before!

Every detail seemed to stick out more than usual for her today. She enjoyed the sensation of the scrubbed bare floorboards underneath her toes as she walked into the kitchen and bent over her father sitting at the table to kiss his doughy cheek.

"You're something worth protecting, Papa," she thought to herself, "and you're safe now." Belle hummed to herself as bacon sizzled on the stove and spat out angry bubbles of grease at her. She finished making their breakfast and served it on cracked china plates, then took the seat opposite her father.

"Hm. So today is the big day. My little Belle, all grown up," he said, smiling at her.

"Papa, I'll always be your little Belle," she smiled. It would be hard on him to give her up, but it was the lesser of two evils. Either they would have been separated when he was carted away to a mad house, or when she left to marry Gaston. Marrying Gaston was the right thing to do, she reminded herself. It was the one chance she had at keeping her father safe and happy. She would do anything to protect him.


End file.
